Play Things
by Cookies and Ink
Summary: Blaise may be patient but he isn't passive. Mrs Zabini's selfish, manipulative behaviour has gone on for too long, until Blaise has finally had enough. [Inspired by The Rocky Horror Picture Show]


A/N: I wrote this for Round 6 of the QLFC. I'm a Beater in the Montrose Magpies. Any prompts are listed at the end of the fic, but to put some things in perspective, this fic is _**heavily**_ inspired by the cult classic - The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

* * *

 **Play Things**

Everything was a toy to her, Blaise reflected as he watched his mother stroke a stranger's arm. It was a simple token gesture designed to calm the prey down. At first, the theatrical and bold make-up had unnerved the newcomer. Combined with an outfit that showed more skin than clothing, it was a potent mix.

Blaise never bothered with learning their names anymore. He hadn't since his third time as a page boy, his mother in yet another white dress.

All too quickly, however, aversion had turned to intrigue. It always did. His mother was something alien, unfathomable. Blaise had seen the events play out so many times he felt like he could narrate them.

 _It was a dark and stormy night. A sweet young thing, innocent and naive, had appeared asking for help. They were scared. They were lost and confused.  
_  
They sky was actually clear, a perfect night for Astronomy homework, but Blaise allowed himself some poetic license.

He glanced across, trying to pinpoint a gender to the intruder in their home. With wide eyes, pouty lips and hair still tousled from the Floo they had fallen out of, it was anyone's guess. Or perhaps they were open minded enough to be fluid about these things. They would be used and abused however they identified.

"I really do just need some Floo powder... But if you're sure about letting me stay the night... I don't want to seem ungrateful."

White teeth glinted between heavily lipsticked lips. There was a shark at the table who had scented blood — Blaise looked away, uninterested in the show. The story unfolding was all too predictable.

 _Confused and overwhelmed by the sights before them, every moment a garnish spectacle, they would spend the night._

They would never be the same again. If they even survived.

Blaise excused himself from the table, snagging a bottle of champagne as he left.

It was all just boring.

Tonight, Blaise would have to listen to music. Something loud, pulsating, infectious. Something that would drown out the cries of pain or pleasure.

His mother always got what she wanted — or people ended up dead.

Blaise had always been patient. People who assumed that he was passive, however, quickly changed their minds. There was a reason that even Draco Malfoy at the peak of his power didn't dare to go toe to toe with Blaise Zabini.

He was known for his cutting words and even more damaging spellwork.

 _Finally, after all these years, he was about to snap. He had been betrayed too many times._

"Blaise?"

Shaken from his thoughts, he lifted his gaze as Daphne took his hand.

"I think you're right," she said.

"We're talking about murder. We are discussing killing my mother."

Blaise expected the words to have some power. He waited for the punch, for the weight of what he had just said to hit him.

There was nothing.

Daphne was toying with the necklace he had given her for their last anniversary, a simple token of his affection. What they had together transcended simple gifts and kisses on the cheek. Perhaps that was why, after his outburst, all his red-headed lover did was shrug with a mocking smile.

"Yes, we are. Then we'll be free."

Blaise nodded, voicing what he'd been thinking for weeks.

"She's gone too far. All of my life, I did what she asked of me, practically waiting on her hand and foot. I have constantly worked for my family name. I got Outstanding's throughout school and I was neutral throughout the war." Daphne shrugged in some disbelief at that, but Blaise ignored her, his mind firm. "And now, when I want to start a career and live my life, she is sabotaging me."

Blaise's voice dropped to a low snarl.

"I find myself regularly reading scandals in the paper of her sleeping with people who are worse than dirt under my shoe. Everywhere we travel, I'm still plagued by all of the rumours…"

"I particularly like the one about the incident where she fed her last fiancé, cooked and neatly carved, to his mistress. I think you get your jealousy from her," Daphne giggled.

Blaise took a slow, deep breath.

"You better hope not," he said lowly, "because I know exactly how many galleons I've had to use to bribe Aurors and reporters over the years to keep the worst of it under the carpet."

There was a moment of silence and Blaise nodded to himself in determination.

"She has betrayed the family. Now that it's my money and name she is tarnishing, I am going to have to take care of the problem."

"We need to look after ourselves," Daphne agreed.

 _It was the middle of the day when they left to kill her. In their minds only one thought lingered: of removing the most manipulative, selfish person in their lives._

 _He was done being used._

Layla Zabini had known why they were there. The scene that followed had been dramatic to the point of ridiculousness. She had wailed and run from room to room, constantly accusing them of the utmost betrayal.

 _And then she cried out:_

"Stop! You would be nothing without me!"

That was the final straw. Blaise reacted as Daphne watched. The Aurors were called eventually, once the appropriate scene had been prepared for public viewing. What the papers eventually printed, combined with the whispers at the funeral, was not the plot twist Blaise had hoped for.

They assumed he had done it, despite all the effort they had put in to make it seem otherwise. People muttered how he had too much of his mother's blood in his veins — after all, he had taken her name and not his father's.

Blaise had expected sympathy, for the first time in his life. He had wanted a piece of the limelight. Even better, for the ones who had realised, to call him a hero. Instead all he got were whispers and furtive glances.

He did not care, that was what he told himself. For his whole life, he had been smothered by his mother's shadow, bent to her will and firmly under her thumb. Now, he was in charge and free to do as he wanted..

As the mourners left — gossipers, the lot of them — Daphne kissed him with a smirk.

"Let's go home."

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 **A/N:** Thank you as always to my amazing team and betas.

The prompts I used were:

\- token

\- incident.

It was wonderful to be able to write a fic based on a movie that I absolutely adore. I think the character of Dr Frank - N - Furter is so complex, with the mix of selfish and manipulative behaviour that getting to explore it even in as few words as I have was wonderful.


End file.
